


The tied hands of fate

by hellbilly



Category: Captain America (Movies), MCU, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Dealing With Trauma, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I ramble too much, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, So much confusion, be warned, this is Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbilly/pseuds/hellbilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asa has known since she was a child that the Avengers would need her help. She has also known that she would become irrevocably entangled with a Hydra experiment even worse off than she was. It will be the end of her, but that is fate for you. Can't argue with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am a horrible person. It's been a while since I wrote any fics, but this idea has been in my head for years and now I'm finally sitting down to get this particular tapeworm out if my head.
> 
> I know. Gross.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, I promise we will get to the good stuff soon enough.

When they found her Asa was sitting in front of the small cottage she had spent the past six months in, waiting patiently for that day. She was sitting on her packed suitcase, an old, battered thing, wrapped in a big brown wool coat that was covered in cat hair. Her head tilted ever so slightly when the car stopped, undoubtedly something sleek and shiny and expensive since it was driven by Tony Stark. She wouldn't know, her unruly blond curls were pressed to the side of her head by a black strip of cloth she had tied over them, having long ago learned that the sight of the perfectly white eyes underneath unsettled people.

Asa knew exactly what would happen, but she waited for the two men to get out, listening to their steps on the small cobble path that led to her favorite home she had in the past couple of years. A large cat was perched on her shoulder, the soft purring ceased as the men approached and she could feel the silky tail that was draped around her neck twitch back and forth like a pendulum. Poor thing didn't trust strangers, and more often than not she was right. But not this time.

“Hello, Asa, I'm…”

“Tony Stark. You are here with Steven Rogers, who doesn't appreciate this at all, to ask for my help with something important to you. I will say yes so I figured I could save us some time and packed up my belongings. I will bring my cat, even though you won't like it.”

There was a moment of quiet, only the sound of the wind in the trees, a bird chirping in the distance. And emotions. She didn't need to see to know that they were exchanging a glance, that Steve was mildly amused and Tony irritated. He had probably prepared a speech. No. Not probably. But she had heard it so often she didn't want to hear it again, now that this pivotal moment in her life she had had visions about so often was actually there. People rarely stayed in her life for too long, because she didn't let them and because they had a tendency not to heed her warnings, but if they were around for a while they were often exasperated by her. So many of the smaller, insignificant things in her daily life seemed so unnecessary that she felt the urge to skip them if she had had a vision about it, so she often skipped entire conversations to get to the point. 

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Tony huffed, but she could feel that his humor was winning over his ego for now. Apparently he didn't like being depraved of an opportunity to ramble a little, so Asa made an effort to smile at him, the corners of her mouth curling gently upward as she got up from her suitcase. “I can assure you that it was a very rousing speech, Mr. Stark, and had I not known that my coming along was inevitably written into my future it would have swayed me for sure.” For a moment she was distracted by a memory tugging at her consciousness, hot dogs and fireworks and candy, but then she felt a presence next to her, steady and calm and oh so torn up inside, riddled with guilt and a burden that should be too heavy even for a superhero. All old fashioned manners he introduced himself and she assured him how much of a pleasure it was to finally actually meet him as he led her to the waiting car, the man she had mildly offended just moments ago following with her suitcase, muttering about being degraded to luggage boy by a capsicle. The fondness he was so clearly radiating should be obvious even to those without her skills so she decided not to comment.

The car door opened and she chuckled, because Captain America was holding the door open for her while Iron Man carried her belongings and this whole situation was just ridiculous. “Watch out for your head, the car is very low.” He actually guided her hand to the roof of the car while his other gently rested on her head until Asa had safely made her way into the vehicle that was about as high off the ground as a skateboard. For a moment she mourned the loss of her eyesight, because walking next to Steve Rogers had given her an idea of his height and stature, and a part of her longed to watch him fold himself into this tiny race car. Alas, she had to be content with her imagination, which conjured up vague memories of school books, grainy black and white pictures of a man in onesie pj's holding a shield. Back before they took her eyesight in exchange for the skills that made her an asset to the Avengers. 

Asset. She chuckled.

They drove for a while in the car that seemed to be a sentient jet without wings, talking to Mr. Stark and informing him about their ETA, fuel levels and a car that was following them. She sat with her head leaning against the cool window, wishing not for the first time that she could actually see the world around her. The car seemed to slow down considerably, and she heard the car saying something about approaching gates and everything being ready for departure. Asa held her breath, and in her shock forgot to reign in the panic that began to fill the car. Someone shifted in their car, probably to look at her.

“Are you okay, Asa?” Steve Rogers, to the rescue. His voice was calm and friendly, and she tried to focus on that, on the warmth she felt coming from him, in spite of the turmoil she felt underneath.

“Well… I really don’t like flying, so there is that.” Nothing in her vision had indicated that this would happen, but it was such a relatively insignificant detail that she could have skipped it. And, in the end, it would have made her so much more reluctant to agree to come along, so maybe her subconscious had decided to leave this detail out. She was not pleased with herself, at all.

There was more shifting and a wave of sympathy washed over her, she closed her eyes behind her blindfold and let herself be swept up in that current of emotion, effectively drowning out the anxiety she had felt would suffocate her just moments ago. “Tony’s jet is about as safe as sitting on a couch, there is no need to worry.” Asa resurfaced from her state of bliss at that comment and snorted. “I broke my wrist falling off a couch just three years ago.” There was another brief pause and then laughter, loud and carefree and confident. She pictured Tony Stark with his head tilted back, hands still on the steering wheel. Maybe even a tear or two. She felt a lot better about this already, even if she didn't even know why exactly they wanted her help. Asa knew that they had a young lady that was quite skilled at toying with people's minds, something she herself had always struggled with, and emotions, with was her own specialty. Not only could she sense them, but the could influence them, snuff them out like the flame of a candle or stoke them from gently glowing embers to a raging fire. And they had the one called Vision. So why would they need her? It dawned on her that maybe nobody knew, not even them. And it didn't matter. She had known this would happen since she had her first premonition at the tender age of ten. They had been fragmented and vague at first, until she had been taken from her family to be… refined.

A loud growl next to her reminded her of the presence of her beloved cat Bastet. They had been together since before her escape, a gift from her captors. It was probably not natural for a cat to live that long, but Asa had long ago stopped questioning the things in life she had no influence on. Like the absence of her eyesight. The strange longevity of her cat. Or her own. This new turn in her life she had been waiting for for years and that she was now succumbing to without hesitation, because she knew the difference between the kind of vision that could be changed and those that were already written in the book of time.

So she let Captain America help her out of the car and lead her towards what she assumed was a monstrous jet, because she doubted that Tony Stark could ever own anything small and subtle. Head raised high she stepped on board, determined to face her destiny with calm and dignity. After all, she had had decades to prepare for it. She would become a sort Avenger. She would help them with the recovery of what was left of the man called Bucky Barnes. And he would eventually kill her.


	2. Resurrection Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is thawed, meatloaf is made, and so are enemies. Not in that order.

_I know that sleep walking too_  
_In trying to be free_  
_Of all this damage in my eyes_  
_Making confusion in my mind_  
_When I hear a resurrection song_  
_Night lays me down when I'm fading_  
_When I can't go home because they hate me_  
_To sing that resurrection song_  
_Day end of day_  
_Each hanging spiral_  
_What do you make_  
_Of this clear blue silence_  
_Now that the engine driver_  
_Has grown to be a deep sea diver_  
_And the street has got no end_  
_Better keep your heart strong little friend_  
_Thought I heard a resurrection song_

A whole week later Asa still didn't quite know what she was supposed to do. The ride in the jet had been unpleasant for everyone involved when she had panicked and lost control, projecting it on everyone in it with her. Tony had declared he needed to lie down after they had landed, owing their lives to the skilled AI that had taken over the jet once neither of them could move anymore, frozen in fear. Asa had tried to apologize profusely but the millionaire had waved her off, declaring he needed a drink and a nap and that she should settle in before they would check her over, make sure she was okay. It nearly sent her into another downward spiral, but this time she was prepared for it and clamped down on the unwelcome emotion, making sure to project calm instead.

After her enhancement and her subsequent struggle Asa had vowed never to get into anyone's feelings again if they didn't give her permission first. That was nearly impossible if she herself felt something strongly and it made certain activities damn near impossible. If you think your neighbors hearing you have sex is awkward, try having them feel it. The entire block. 

That is not something she likes to share with people that think her abilities are great, but she has been tempted once or twice 

Tony still avoided her whenever possible, but he seemed to do that to a few of the people that were assembled at what she was told was The Compound. Wanda, by far her favorite but don't tell anyone, gave her the rundown on recent happenings and for once Asa didn't know anything so it was a rather refreshing experience. Not knowing what the other person will say next and answering before they speak. She tried to explain this when they tested her abilities, that she didn't have any control over her visions. It was a jumbled mess most of the time, flashes of past, present and future all stirred together into a confusing stew of tenses that made it impossible for her to quite figure out what decade it was supposed to be. And unlike the empathy, she couldn’t conjure anything up at will. It came unbidden and unwanted, regardless of the situation she was currently in and had resulted in her nearly walking off a cliff once because her body still went through the motions of whatever she had been doing at that time.

Natasha didn't really appreciate Asa telling her she knew exactly what happened in Budapest, but she wouldn't tell anyone about it. Clint however laughed and awkwardly bumped her shoulder, saying that they might have to kill her after all, now that she _knew_. She was not worried, they would all get along. Even if the frighteningly quiet spy lady would attempt to kill Asa in her sleep, she wouldn't succeed because even Asa couldn’t be killed twice. And Asa quickly discovered a secret weapon she could use to her advantage - nothing placated the lady more than fresh cinnamon buns so she made them daily, sensing a grudging sort of happiness behind all the complaints about carbs and not fitting into ridiculously tight outfits anymore. Nobody complained about the food, really.

The only way Asa had found of making herself somewhat useful was cooking, so she did, and after the initial surprise of a blind woman preparing food that was not just edible but mostly delicious people seemed to make an effort to show up to meals as if they were normal people with normal schedules instead of a group of slightly less normal humans or sort of humans who were as close to regular schedules as a rock was to flying - she made sure to keep plenty of leftovers for those away on top secret missions and Tony, who spent most of his time tinkering and most definitely not radiating his emotions all over the compound with a ferocity that gave Asa migraines.

Wanda had told her she would get used to it eventually.

She was in the kitchen, humming along to Paradise by the Dashboard Lights, when she felt the chipper energy of Sam Wilson and the thin veneer of composure that tried to hide the cesspool of guilt and sadness that was Steve Rogers.

“Damn lady, this smells fantastic. What is on the menu for today?” Experience had told her that, much like the bird of prey he was named after, Sam would swoop in and steal bites at any opportunity, so she waved a knife in his general direction for good measure, but she smiled. Without her abilities he was still capable of infecting most people with his good moods, and she found him generally pleasant to be around because unlike most other Avengers he was not an emotional basket case. But who was she to suggest therapy.

“Meatloaf,” she beamed at him, and after a second or two he burst out laughing. The confusion that caused for Steve was palpable, and she knew he would ask before he did, but she waited patiently for him to do so. It was, apparently, the polite thing to do.

“What…” 

“The guy singing the song she's listening to is called Meatloaf.”

Apparently politeness didn't apply to Sam Wilson. At least he was now stuck with trying to explain to a very confused Captain America why in the world a musician would name himself after food and she was glad she hadn’t barged in to maneuver herself into that position. It seemed to be a constant uphill battle to catch the man up to modern standards in every way, and Asa had contemplated whether being frozen in time was better or worse than being scattered all over the place.

Her current conclusion was that both options sucked a mighty donkey…

“Hey, Curly Sue. Mind helping me get something old out of the freezer? He is taking up too much room.”

Sam's struggles had effectively distracted her enough to cover up the approach of Iron Man himself. He had been gone on some mission to another country, but since Sam and Steve had been with him she should have expected Stark as well. The two bickering men went silent and tense immediately and she didn't need premonitions to know what this was about. At the corner of her mind she felt something tug briefly, and she saw the three men talking to another, one who wore a cat costume, in front of a big tube that was frozen from the inside. A scowling face was barely visible inside it and a cold fist clenched around her intestines. Asa wondered how she managed not to hiss like an angry cat every time she had to see that face, and chalked it up to her marvelous self control.

“Tony, I thought we agreed to wait a few days. We need to prepare this.” Rogers, the voice of reason as usual. The urge to calm him down was very strong and she could feel herself revving up the needed emotion, making it spread throughout the room like a warm little breeze and enveloping the three men until she felt them relax. Tony had called her an emotional air freshener before, and while she thought that comparison was mostly weird, it did sort of describe what she could do. She could also have them on the floor writhing in pain, but that was something she didn’t do anymore.

“Perfect. She's doing it already. I'm not sure how up to speed you are on current events here, so I'll give you the Reader's Digest version. Cap here has a super assassin boyfriend that we put on ice because all it takes is a few safewords to turn him into a compliant little killing machine. We don't have the switch to turn that off yet, but the people that programmed the little engine that killed have other projects running amok on planet earth and we need whatever info is in his head. Might be. He has memory issues. And other issues. We think that your voodoo might help keep him stable until we figured what the hell is going on.”

It was a long speech, and he was mostly convinced that it could work. The usual confidence was up and working quite well, but he was also angry. At Steve? At Bucky? She wasn't a mind reader so she couldn't tell, but it was quite obvious that he wasn't a fan of Bucky. James. Winter Soldier. Asset. She would have to figure out how to address him, no matter how much she didn't want to. Even being in the same room as the man who would kill her eventually should be a challenge. Of course she didn't know for sure, she had no experience in that field yet. Nor did she want to, but she couldn’t exactly help it.

“Don't you want to ask her if she wants to first? She doesn't look too happy about this. Asa, what Tony here is trying to do is ask you if you would help us. I know you said you knew you would, but this is not watering your neighbor's plants while they're on vacation. And you have every right to say no.”

Asa turned towards Sam with a smile, knowing that people generally felt less uncomfortable if she did. Every now and then she turned the wrong way on purpose, facing a plant or something else entirely while talking to them. Even though she couldn't see she could still feel people, their unique emotional mixes that she became familiar with quickly, and it helped her navigate through crowded rooms with ease. How she managed to avoid running into inanimate objects was beyond her, but she had never needed a cane. It had probably something to do with her enhancement, but she had trouble remembering details. All she knew was that she couldn't stand being in a room knowing she couldn't get out, and if said room was being catapulted through the air at ungodly speeds it was the absolute worst.

“I knew I would help, so I will. But I'm not sure how much I can actually do. You already know my limits - I can't create positive emotions that aren't there unless I have actual physical contact to that person. And I doubt he will consent to that. But I will try.”

That seemed to be good enough, at least for Stark, because he grunted and began walking, calling over his shoulder that he would expect them at the lab in fifteen minutes. Asa fought down a wave of nausea and barely reminded to turn off the oven. A brief image of a fire taking out half of the kitchen served as a decent reminder, and she hoped that the remaining heat would be enough to cook the meatloaf to just the right point. Nobody liked dry or undercooked meatloaf, especially not after waking up a long lost friend slash killing machine.

Her training had mostly involved inciting fear and despair in people, and she could create that from next to nothing in large groups of people without trying too hard. Maybe because everyone was afraid of something, had at least memories of anger that were easy to drag to the surface. But not everyone had happiness inside them or knew how to be calm. She needed skin on skin contact to even have a chance to accomplish that, and even then it would drain her to the point of nearly passing out. All she could do was hope that what she had just done would work on Barnes, finding the necessary emotions inside her and then sending them to the room at large, hoping it would penetrate the thick layers of whatever feelings this particular broken soldier wore as his armor. Something told her he would be a lot like his old friend, who might be carrying an actual shield on occasion but who was so much better at using one nobody could see to protect the fragile core of himself.

Wilson accompanied them to the lab, stating that he fully intended to tackle anyone who tried to attack anyone. Which seemed a very real possibility, given the circumstances. So many threads of anger connecting the people in the room and those beyond the glass panels. Tony had refused to let everyone in, so they waited outside, watching. Some of them were new to Asa, but she had more pressing issues to deal with. Steve, Sam and Tony were with her, and she noticed that the temperature had dropped considerably when they entered the room she had just been in a few days ago to be poked and prodded. Tension filled the air and she considered dissipating it her warmup.

There were the soft sounds of machines, the beeps of a heart monitor cutting through the relative silence at an unnaturally slow pace. As time passed the intervals shortened, and with it came a new set of emotions, dull at first but increasingly stronger. Too strong, and she groaned at the prospect of having another person with way too much baggage around, which should have been expected. All things considered. There was pain, more mental anguish than physical. A good dose of weariness as he started to become aware of his surroundings. And confusion. A whole lot of it, spurred on by sheer terror. All she could do was hold on to her seat and brace herself, looking for all intents and purposes as if she was prepared for a tidal wave. Or, maybe more fitting for the context, an avalanche. Finally the fear and confusion spiked, accompanied by a metallic sound, and then came the toxic kind of loathing people usually directed straight inward. The guy hated himself and she couldn't find it in herself to feel sorry for him.

He deserved it. Killer.

For a moment her emotional transmission faltered, but then she was able to focus again and directed it all towards him, trying to wrap calm around him like a thick blanket.

“Steve? Did you find… what is she doing here? She's messing with my head.” The new voice was low, raspy from the long time in the freezer as Tony had put it, and slightly nasal. Maybe he had a stuffy nose or sinus problems, or maybe he always sounded like a pompous asshole. Asa thought she was probably biased, but she leaned heavily towards the latter. He was downright hostile towards her, which she hadn't expected, at least not right away. Neither had she expected that he would be able to resist her powers. They had asked her because she was better at directly influencing instead of just reading emotions like Wanda, yet here they were.

“Did they just train you well or is it all the tampering that makes you better at resisting? Oh, right. Never mind. I saw. Unpleasant. Since I'm not needed here and will in fact make him worse, I will go finish my meatloaf and lie down if you don't mind. I trust you don't.” Eager to get away from him she all but jumped off her chair, felt herself get dizzy and stumbled two steps to the side and right into a table. Huffing indignantly she straightened herself, pulled up her floor length skirt high enough to avoid stepping on the hem, and left the lab as gracefully as possible, ignoring the wave of surprise and faint amusement. He had probably just realized that she was blind, but if he thought she would be an easy target for his murderous urges he was very mistaken. She could throw a knife with deadly precision at most times, but knowing her luck this wasn’t it so she opted not to try, it would only give away the shiny little things strapped to her thighs. The voices behind her picked up, Steve explaining what was going on, Bucky asking the occasional question while Tony sat in his angry corner, uncharacteristically silent.

Bucky. What kind of stupid nickname was that, anyway? It sounded like a roly poly little boy with chubby little cheeks and not some metal armed psycho with a body count high enough to make serial killers jealous. She had seen some of what they had done to… enhance him. But that didn't mean he was allowed to continue killing people. They had her enhanced and at least help with killing people but she didn't go around continuing that now, did she. She was helping. Even him, at least she tried. Not much, but she tried. He didn't want her to do it so it didn't make sense for her to really try, and she hadn't, end of story.

Asa returned to the kitchen, waving off inquiries from other Avengers on the way, and this time she left the music off. The food was placed in the drawer below the oven designed to keep food warm, and then she took off towards her room, wondering if it would be too much to hope that the super soldier would choke on his food at least a little tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm reluctant to commit to an update schedule because all it will do is ultimately lead to a lot of disappointment since my work schedule has severe mood swings. How about "I strive to update once a week" and that way you'll be pleasantly surprised if I make it to two, or even three, every now and then?
> 
> This chapter was influenced/inspired/written to Mark Lanegan's Resurrection Song. I decided to give away my age by using songs as chapter titles that are mostly from my youth - a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... So if you want to give it a listen, now you know how to find it.
> 
> Thank you for your comments, kudos and silent reading. I hope you'll stick around to read my weirdness.


	3. Freak on a Leash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky POV. Waking up is pain and confusion. But Bucky is Bucky and he is not a steak.

_Feeling like a freak on a leash_  
_Feeling like I have no release_  
_How many times have I felt diseased_  
_Nothing in my life is free, is free_

_Sometimes I cannot take this place_  
_Sometimes it's my life I can't taste_  
_Sometimes I cannot feel my face_  
_You'll never see me fall from grace_

All there is is pain. That's nothing new. Anyone who has ever spent time outside in the winter knows how it feels if cold limbs warm up again. Now imagine it ten times worse and all over your body. He has done it a lot, and this is a memory they didn't take away from him. Or maybe they tried but couldn't. The most intense ones always came back first. His hand wrapped around someone's throat. The horror of sitting back and watching your body do unspeakable things you think are right but still feel so terribly _wrong_. A stack of warm birthday pancakes. Red lipstick on the collar of his uniform, lips on his throat.

But something was different this time, and he wondered if they found a way to sedate him that was almost working. They had tried before, even used tranquilizer darts. Presumably the stuff they used on elephants. It made him woozy for a few minutes, which was kind of nice for a while there. Except for the guys trying to tie him down. It triggered fuzzy memories of brawls at a bar of some sorts after a few drinks too many, although he also thinks a lot of them were not his fault.

It was definitely not like him to idly follow such train of thought when he woke up, he needed to be alert and ready for whatever they threw at him. There would be prodding and poking and most likely the sticks that doled out electroshocks. But he felt unusually calm, serene even, and was oh so tempted to let it lull him in, like waking up on a Sunday morning and deciding to turn over and try to chase after a pleasant dream.

As if he even knew what that was like anymore.

That sarcastic, cold little voice finally got his attention and he struggled, finally realizing what was going on - _someone was in his fucking head_. Make no mistake, if Bucky Barnes knew one thing it was eighty shades of mindfuckery, one of the many specialties of Hydra. Well, and he knew how to kill someone with a bit of dental floss in five different ways and how to get a woman to drop her panties in five minutes, but that was entirely beside the point.

He also knew that he was Bucky and that was also new.

But. There was a big one if he had ever seen one. BUT. If he knew he was Bucky, didn't that mean he was not with Hydra? Didn't he let Steve and his friends put him on ice? Did Hydra steal him back? Or, much less likely because it would involve something positive and positive didn't happen anymore - did they figure out how to remove the code from his head? 

It was annoying how the mind woke up long before the body did, one would think that with the brain being inside the body it would thaw after the rest, but the process seemed to be reversed. He was not a steak, he was Bucky. It seemed silly even thinking that name so often, but it was a tidbit he cherished so immensely he needed to remind himself, to reassure himself that this was most definitely real. He had a personality, he was his own person and that was the best news he has had in a long while.

Then came the memories of missions, his past transgressions, and boy did he wish he could skip those.

Instead of the usual soul devouring agony he looked at them like one would watching a not particularly well written movie one sits through because one paid for the admission and there is nothing else to do right now anyway. That was also strange. Not entirely unwelcome, but strange nonetheless. This was a trick, they had him again and there would be punishment for evading them, for not completing his objective…

Suddenly his body decided that it had enough of this lying around idly and he regained control over his muscles. Control is used loosely here, because his entire body jerked up and sideways at the same time, limbs all over the place. The result looked rather comical, and it ended the life of the heart rate monitor when he took it down with a good right hook. A left would be difficult because he was lacking a shiny appendage and he knew that would throw him off balance for weeks. It took seventy years to adjust and he was still not quite used to it so he didn't think it's absence would be something he'd get over any time soon.

“Steve? Did you find…,” he stopped himself right there as his eyes snapped away from the man formerly known as Steve Rogers - well, he still was but he still thought of the scrawny little shit before the steroids - barely skimmed over Stark and landed on a crazy cat lady sitting off to the side. Of course, he had no way of knowing if she even liked cats, but he assumed she did, screw what people say about that making an ass out of you and me. She wore a long skirt in a blueish grey that looked messy and wrinkled, and a grey wool thing that looked suspiciously like the scratchy old blanket he slept on during his training days when they hadn't started to put him on ice all the time. Except this one had a fringe around the edge and a hole in the middle for her head. Why was there so much hair? He couldn't even begin to calculate how many knives she could have stashed in that mat of curls. Even worse, he knew that it was her who was trying to calm him down. And it made him angry. “What is she doing here? She's messing with my head.”

Captain America, meet Captain Obvious. They probably wanted to be careful, maybe Steve even wanted to make the torment of waking up from cryostasis a little more bearable. Nice of him, but Bucky didn't want anyone in his head unless that anyone was one of those pretty pinup calendar girls taking her clothes off. And he had seen the modern version of those calendars, there wasn't much left to be taken off.

Bucky felt her gaze on him. Wrong. Not her gaze. She was wearing a black strip of cloth over her eyes for some reason, but he could feel her look with her mind and that was one of the less crazy sounding things he had thought lately. Something invaded his mind and a sharp flash of a memory he didn't know he even had made him flinch. A box in a dark room somewhere below ground, the typical Hydra setup. The box had been placed there by two wide eyed men that had run away as soon as they dropped it. Someone was crying inside and he felt terror grip him tightly. The voice of his handler spoke to him over an intercom. “You are a machine. You do not know fear. Fight it.”

And he did. Eventually.

His eyes were still glazed over and distant when she talked, but he heard the words and he wholeheartedly agreed with her leaving. Preferably to a place far away from him with a one way ticket. Judging people based on what they could do might have been a tad bit hypocritical but he was fresh out of damns to give at that point. When she left he felt relieved, even more so when his own emotions came back about a minute after her departure. A hefty kick in the gut by this massive guilt was still better than yet another person tampering with his head.

“So… there's more like me? I thought they were all destroyed.” Confused didn't even begin to describe it. He thought he had been a last unicorn type of thing, and while he didn't need that knowledge in any way it had been some sort of comfort that Hydra had lost their small army of breathing weapons. It's not like he had planned to start a support group. It wouldn't have worked anyway, if they were anything like him. Social skills were not exactly practiced in that kind of environment. The closest he had gotten to human interaction was the occasional struggle with a target, and the attempts of his handlers to subdue him after a mission weren't exactly warm hugs either.

Stark finally moved, and he looked like he was just forced to eat a truckload of lemons sitting on a pile of manure. He was tense as he got up, his hands balled into fists that he unfurled, with what seemed to be quite a bit of effort, to swipe his fingers around in the air where glowing words and numbers seemed to float. Within moments the floating space expanded to show a video, and if Bucky wasn't quite able to shut his mouth all the way it's because it became unhinged. That was him in the video, taking a midnight stroll across rooftops, rifle strapped to his back. Except that wasn't him, there was a distinct lack of metal arm and if he had curves like that he would have known because that would have kept him busy for days. It was a black haired female, tall but not quite as tall as he was. Shoulders not as wide, of course, and she looked like she could stand a few extra meals. And she was thin, not muscular as the enhanced kind of killing machine usually was. But the scary part was, she was moving exactly like him, down to the way her shoulders rolled when she walked. Strutted. 

“She's not Hydra. Look at the way she moves. Perfect carbon copy, but her body is all wrong. She's not enhanced, or particularly well trained, very little in terms of muscles. That's some pretty good mimicking.” Tony raised an eyebrow, but turned his face back to the screen. It seemed that he didn't want to hear a single word Bucky had to say and he tried to figure out why that man was so particularly hostile. Blame it on brain freeze, because moments later the memory hit Bucky like a freight train. Killing someone's parents doesn't do much to make you likeable.

A big, fat cat came strolling in, waving it's way through Steve’s legs with an obnoxiously loud purr. Bucky couldn't recall ever having seen such a particularly ugly cat, it was a muddy sort of brown with sand colored blotches all over, and the eyes were an unsettling shade of orange. It looked like it had run into a wall repeatedly. As if it had read his thoughts it looked up at him and hissed before scampering back out. “That damn thing is not supposed to be around here. It's unsanitary. That hair gets everywhere, damn it,” Stark muttered, continuing to ignore Bucky.

“There have been sightings of similarly dressed people all over the East Coast within the last two months. They have been targeting politicians, high ranking military officials. And civilians. It seems a little sloppy, but it's getting media attention. People are scared, Bucky, and a lot of them still think it's you.”

None of that made any sense. Hydra had certain patterns for their missions, clear, concise and straightforward. Most definitely never sloppy. Using pantomime carbon copies seemed to be very much unlike anything they would have done, even if it was designed as a trap to get him back somehow. If it was that it was the worst tactic they had ever used, because it was about as subtle as blowing up the White House. He couldn't wrap his head around it all, maybe because he was still foggy from being frozen and that manipulative… there were no words he could use without hearing the faint voice of what he now knew was his mother, berating him for his lack of respect for women. Disrespect one, disrespect all. He scowled.

Finally they disbanded their little meeting and Steve ushered him out of the lab, into an elevator and from there into a spacious bedroom with its own bath. Bucky felt like he could cry if Hydra hadn't surgically removed his tear ducts - they hadn't, but he was still as emotional as a piece of cardboard and figured he'd stay that way forever. After years, decades of ice cold water straight from a hose in dingy Hydra underground dwellings even the dirty little bathroom with the dubious brownish water in Bulgaria had seemed like the epitome of luxury. This though. This was something else. Water sprayed not only from above but from the sides and all that without him pushing any buttons. There weren't any. Too bad, because he wanted the water even warmer to chase the chill out of his bones as best as possible.

“I hope you find the temperature to your liking, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nearly cracked his head on the glass door of the shower as he spun around to face the intruder. Naked, wet and quite literally unarmed. He'd have to remember that pun for later.

Nobody in sight.

“Where the hell are you?”

He felt just a little silly, talking to nothing at all. From the corner of his eye he saw movement, but it was only his reflection in the obscenely large mirror. It took a lot of willpower not to cringe at what he saw staring back at him.

“I am sorry Mr. Barnes, I am FRIDAY, the artificial intelligence running this compound.” There was a brief pause, most likely for effect and the benefit of his confused brain, and Bucky wondered if an AI could sound smug. This one did. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to let me know. Maybe some music?” 

The lights dimmed ever so slightly and some smooth jazz began to pour from speakers so well hidden he'd probably have to tear open all the walls to find them. Bucky hated jazz. A lot.

“No. Turn that shit off,” he growled through his clenched teeth, still hesitant to speak to essentially nothing. Well. It was a computer somewhere, he assumed. He also knew things had come a long way since machines filling entire rooms were around back in the day. Still. Talking?

“Could you...uhm… make the water hotter?” There it was. Bucky received orders, he didn't make requests. Another thing to get used to. The water didn't even sputter but he felt the temperature rise and bit back a moan. How long could he stay in there before he grew gills and the metal stump on his shoulder would rust?

A lot longer than half an hour. That's how long he could let himself stay in the shower, standing perfectly still before feeling selfish and weird. There had been soap he really didn't care for much, but it had gotten the job done he supposed. After he had found a razor and marveled at the result. Dull memories of learning to shave with an old fashioned straight razor had surfaced and he had been itching to write them down until he remembered that he didn't have his notebook anymore. That triggered a pang of what he assumed was sadness and he carefully inspected the unfamiliar emotion like a boy would poke roadkill with a stick. Distant yet morbidly fascinated.

After what seemed like an eternity he had decided to pull his hair back with a black elastic he had found, at least until he had decided what to do about that. It did get in the way a lot but he had to get used to making actual decisions that were not about survival and a haircut definitely didn't fit into that category. There were clothes on the bed, his bed, and he could faintly smell Steve’s cologne in the air. A black tshirt and soft black pants, not exactly clothes people usually wore outside the house he had gathered, even if they were comfortable and allowed enough freedom to move around, scale buildings and dropkick a guy if necessary. Not that it was, now. There were two pairs of underwear and that nearly sent him into a catatonic state, because they were different and he had to choose. Both looked like shorts but one pair looked a lot wider, which ultimately disqualified it. Couldn't be comfortable. He'd try that one on later, just to be sure.

Steve was waiting for him outside the door to his room, a friendly face but a watchdog nonetheless. He knew that nobody here really trusted him, neither did he if he were honest. The time he had spent by himself, away from Hydra, had shown him that no matter how long he managed to hide… there was no hiding from the evil lurking in his head. No matter how far away he ran, he couldn't outrun his own head, his memories, his thoughts. And someone out there still had those words needed to activate the cold killing machine he had tried so hard to get rid of.

So he followed Steve down to the kitchen, carefully memorizing doors, elevators, stairs. Especially the door across from him, through which he could hear the dulled screeching of guitars and that he couldn't walk past without slowing down, wading through a thick but invisible fog of anger. Now he knew where that wicked witch slept and he could do something about her if he wanted to. Not killing, Bucky really didn't want to do that anymore. It was still good to know.

Next to the kitchen was a dining area and most people were already assembled. Bucky felt the distinct urge to run away, but he sat down instead, on a corner, back against the wall and with Steve as a buffer next to him. It was instinct, he supposed, relying on the man that was technically a stranger but didn't feel like one at all. There was meatloaf on the table, wrapped in bacon, and it looked and smelled like the best food he had ever come across. Until someone mentioned who had cooked it. Bucky waited, watching everyone else eat and waiting for them to drop dead. When it seemed unlikely that it had been poisoned he dug in, ending up eating four plates heaped with meat and, a little more reluctantly, green beans and potatoes. Meatloaf had been his favorite, once. Now it was just sustenance, no matter how much he tried to force himself to savor it. Who knew when he'd get to eat until he was full again. They would take him again, sniff him out and retrieve their experiment. Or the Avengers would throw him out.

Bucky sat there frowning at his plate, shoveling food into his mouth like it had personally offended him and refusing to talk to anyone. Once he had observed the first few people getting up to put their dishes into the contraption called dishwasher he followed suit, putting his careful observations to use. Them he stalked out and went back to his room, finding it without any problems. He did however stop for a moment to glare at a door that was entirely innocent, except for the fact that it was between him and another freak that he couldn't help but dislike for _messing with his goddamn head_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected, but we're still within once a week territory I think. I would apologize for the wordiness but I warned you in those tags nobody reads. I also apologize for not replying to comments and being an awful human. I see them, I do the pterodactyl screech thing, but at this point I'm glad I can even get a chapter up. Work, I tell you.
> 
> The song is Freak on a Leash by Korn, I thought it was a pretty mainstream thing but you never know. I find the lyrics generally pretty suitable, except for the gibberish towards the end. Probably. Who knows what all goes on in Bucky's head.


	4. Black Hole Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has nightmares, Asa helps him just to be able to sleep.

_Stuttering, cold and damp_  
_Steal the warm wind tired friend_  
_Times are gone for honest men_  
_And sometimes far too long for snakes_  
_In my shoes, a walking sleep_  
_And my youth I pray to keep_  
_Heaven sent hell away_  
_No one sings like you anymore_

A soft breeze played with a strand of her hair, picking it up as if trying to tug her along, urging her to follow the small path through the underbrush. Small twigs and thorns were scratching at her exposed arms and legs, gangly and coltish, in that awkward stage between child and grown woman. Asa was barefoot, and not at all paying attention to the morning sun reflecting off dew drops caught on lush green leaves, making the moss covering the forest ground look like pale velvet sprinkled with diamond dust. She just didn't know it would be the last time she could see it all with her own eyes, so she didn't savor it properly.

Normally her dream stopped there, or looped back to days at the beach, family picnics and other pleasant memories. She never relived the moment of her capture, the last reliable memory she had until she managed to escape her captors probably a few years ago. Time was such a nonsensical concept.

She felt pain and fear and suddenly she saw herself from a captors point of view. The messy hair half torn out of a long braid, her skin more freckled than actually tanned. Asa was in a tree and she walked through the clearing, book under her arm. She felt carefree and happy and also wary, wondering what they wanted with a little girl and pitying that frail creature, because she knew what they could do. Oh how well did she know. Probably. She wasn't sure, but there were memories, fragments, small and slippery like little pebbles in a river. So hard to hold on to before they tumbled away again. But if that's what they wanted they would get, time to strike. Silently she moved, jumped out of the tree right in front of herself, watching strange golden eyes widen in shock and fear before she grabbed herself and ran.

With a gasp Asa shot up in her bed, taking a moment to find her footing because she was scared, so scared, and she needed to control herself before she set all of the Avengers present into a state of panic. It took a few moments before she realized that she was receiving, not transmitting, and she grumbled, not too happy about waking up like that. It was not all that unusual, she had dubbed her new temporary home House of Nightmares after just a few days, because between all of them there was not a single night of peace and quiet. But this disquiet came from a different source altogether, one she would ignore until she died.

Vowing that she would beg Tony to move her to a different room at the next possible opportunity she threw herself back onto the plush mattress, curled up on her left side and pulled the blanket over her head, as if that could create an emotional barrier somehow. Asa had learned to control her own emotions, but for some reason she had never quite mastered blocking out everyone else's. Not for the first time she wondered about the finer details of her training, most of which she seemed to have misplaced over time. Her mind was fragmented at best, in a constant state of confusion about timelines, and it didn't leave much room for memories in general. Bastet walked all over her until she felt the paws press into her neck, the cat turned around three times before the weight shifted from just the paws to the entire body as it wrapped itself around Asa’s neck. It was at least a little distraction from the anguish that permeated her brain unbidden, and she tried to focus on the rusty old purr that had soothed her for such a long time now.

Endless minutes later Asa huffed and pulled the pillow over her head to drown out the low moans and wails. It was absolutely unbearable, and she had half a mind to have Crueso - she never got the name right but the AI responded anyway - contact Tony right away. He was probably tinkering with something right now anyway, maybe a prosthetic for the one armed bandit as she had heard them discuss days ago. Something about infection and weight and pain and replacing the red star with a smiley face or a unicorn silhouette. She had found that pretty amusing, especially considering the sour puss of a man she had had the displeasure to meet earlier. 

If it were anyone else she would help. She really would. But it was this truly despicable creature that went around and killed people all willy-nilly and Asa felt no obligation to help him. Even if she probably should. It wasn't really his fault, after all. Hydra had made him do it so she technically couldn't blame him, but she did. Grumbling to herself she tossed and turned, having a discussion with herself in her head. What she actually blamed him for was something he hadn't done yet, but to her it made no difference. Time was anything but linear, it was a confusing mess of scribbles and one of those scribbles was a contorted face with a metal arm that squeezed the air out of her throat.

After what felt like an eternity and was possibly closer to an hour she found it increasingly difficult to ignore what had become outright screaming. So she grabbed the cat under her arm with the full intention of hurling it at his face from a safe distance, left the warm nest of blankets she had piled up on herself, and padded into the hallway in her nightgown. It was probably old fashioned but she preferred nightgowns and skirts over pants any day, they felt wrong and she didn't question it. Something pinched at her brain whenever she wore the confining garments, something entirely unpleasant that she chose to ignore.

The door to his room was just across the hall and she slid down against the wall next to it, deciding to try something after all, for the benefit of everyone, because the screaming had reached an unbearable level, and nothing else, finding the closer proximity almost too much to handle. Carefully she reached out, imagining her special sense slithering under the door and towards him like tendrils of smoke. It was easier to work with him when he wasn't fully conscious, just like he had been when waking up. Someone taught him well, but if what she had seen was anything to go by they had known as much about emotional manipulation as she did when she first started out - and she didn't think she actually knew anything about the actual process yet, it was mostly intuition and what she assumed to be previous training coming through. The saying about the steady drop and the stone probably applied here.

_Steter Tropfen höhlt den Stein._

Weird. She pushed that sentence out of her mind, unsure if it was hers or coming from his funhouse of shattered mirrors. Asa had tried to explain to Wanda what she did, how she did it, but it wasn't easy when every single person was different. Sometimes she saw images, little movie clips of memories attached to emotions. Sometimes it was a confusing stew of everything mixed together. Sometimes it was all on neat shelves in boxes. Sometimes it was a dark hallway straight from a horror movie. 

Bucky's head was straight from the cut scenes of Silent Hill, deemed too disturbing. 

Asa didn't enjoy flicking through a mind more shattered than her own, looking for something she could work with, picturing it as a long and dark corridor with thousands of doors. A lot of things she didn't even dare to look at, leaving the dark and rotten looking doors alone. A lot of others wouldn't open at all, and she grew increasingly more frustrated. She needed an emotion that wasn't fear. Something calm. Just the memory of biting into a delicious hotdog would do it at that point. One had to know when to dial back on expectations, and Mr. Barnes certainly was such a case. 

Finally she caught hold of something, as dim as it was, the door wouldn't open all the way so she couldn't get the full effect, or the emotion, for that matter. It was pretty dark and sad still, but it would have to do. It was yet another dank room, more like a cell. Somewhere off to the side was a little girl singing, her voice wavering but keeping on nonetheless, and it seemed to take the edge off - not quite a candle in a dark room but maybe the light of the moon through a curtain, barely enough to be of use but present nonetheless. It had to be enough. 

“If I could save time in a bottle  
The first thing that I'd like to do  
Is to save every day  
'Til eternity passes away  
Just to spend them with you..” 

Taking a deep breath she began to sing along with the little girl, making sure she didn't get too loud. Asa couldn't remember ever singing, but that was of course nothing to go by. She also didn't remember what she did three weeks ago, sometimes she couldn't remember what she had done that same day. Gradually the screaming stopped. Asa didn't think the singing was necessary, she could have just focused on the emotion that particular memory caused. But he had proven to be able to resist her abilities and she had decided to try this approach, to help his subconscious recognize the buried memory and help him ease into it - much to her surprise it seemed to work. Nobody had ever bothered to explain her abilities to her, all she knew was that she had received training at some point, but there were more questions than answers and she had learned to roll with the punches, figuratively speaking. Asa gradually worked herself through a catalogue of songs she had heard on the radio as a child until she felt him calm down sufficiently that she felt going back to bed wouldn't result in her waking up in an hour with more screaming. She was cold and stiff when she finally got back up, the cat a dead weight cradled into the crook of her arm and fast asleep. Gingerly she crawled back into her now cold bed and closed her eyes, hoping that she would get at least a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep. 

The next morning she felt as if someone had beaten her up. Her muscles were sore and she had a terrible headache, which didn't help her usual foul mood that only disappeared after a few cups of coffee and a mid morning nap. With hunched shoulders she shuffled into the kitchen, grateful for the soft sounds of rustling newspaper pages and the smell of coffee. Natasha was terribly old fashioned, everyone else seemed to rely on newfangled gadgets for their news. Tony had offered her a tablet that could read to her, but she didn't feel comfortable speaking with the thing and relied on the mysterious floaty voice to provide her with music or audio books. It was currently serving as a very expensive coaster on her nightstand. 

“Good morning. I'd ask if you slept well but you obviously haven't.” 

Grumbling to herself Asa opened the fridge, fingers skimming over the bottles on the shelves in the door until she found her vanilla creamer. With practiced ease she found a mug in a cupboard right over the spring of eternal happiness and poured herself coffee, her finger in the mug to determine the correct coffee/creamer ratio. If she looked half as bad as she felt she should probably apologize to the other woman. 

“Our newcomer does put the ass in assassin, even in his sleep.” 

Asa heard an amused little snort, presumably over a raised mug of coffee. She had come to appreciate Natasha’s dry sense of humor that was sometimes hard to detect. Would be, if she couldn't feel brief flashes of emotions - of which there were few, but those were strong. 

“He does, pity you can't appreciate the visual. Maybe he'll let you see with your hands once you get to know each other better…” 

This time her voice was actually a little shaky with suppressed laughter and Asa frowned, turning her head towards the other woman for full effect. With her blindfold covering half her face it was sometimes hard for people to read her expressions, but Natasha was very perceptive so she would surely see. Of course Asa had meant ass as in asshole, not in the actual body part, which she had no interest in. It was his currently missing arm that was front and center in her mind and that was all there was to him. That and monstrous nightmares that affected her, apparently. 

“You know that's not what I mean. He's projecting even worse than certain other people in this building and he woke me up with his…” 

The elevator whirred and by the way her skin began to crawl she didn't have to guess who was about to force his presence upon them. Muttering curses under her breath Asa grabbed her coffee and began to gather ingredients for her cinnamon buns, ignoring how Natasha grew wary once Bucky approached as best as she could, which proved quite difficult since she was wary herself and almost too tired to block anything. He made no sound until he was a few steps away from the room, probably out of habit. Because he paused and then seemed to make a conscious effort to alert them to his approach by nearly stomping. Laughable. 

“Morning,” Natasha said with the warmth of a Siberian winter storm. All she got in response was a low grunt and a tense silence settled over the room. Not a morning person either, apparently. Asa felt slightly worried about being in the same room as two extremely skilled assassins with a morning grouch problem, but she had a task to focus on. There was clattering behind her that indicated that coffee was about to be retrieved, and the ensuing quiet that filled with confusion while he tried to figure out the modern coffee maker was ignored. Bucky was about five steps away from her and she hoped he noticed the way she let her right hand hover right next to the block with the big knives. 

Just in case. 

Not a single word was uttered until she had spread cinnamon, sugar and butter on the dough, rolled it, cut it up and put it in a large baking pan. Asa could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move, and it was tempting to throw something at his head. But she was generally a calm and collected person and not four, so she didn't. 

Being an adult was awfully overrated. 

Then her brain tilted upside down and she was pulled into a vision, sitting around a table were what she knew were the Avengers, thanks to previous visions, and she thoroughly enjoyed seeing them with what we're technically her own eyes, but weren't. Steve was talking about a warehouse, Bucky looking grim right next to him, interrupting every now and then to add location details that he remembered. This should be a future one so she carefully filed it away and lost herself in watching Clint playing with a pencil. Until something collided with her and threw her to the ground, all she saw was a flash of light reflecting off a metal arm. 

More trouble, wonderful. 

When she returned to the present-ish her hand hurt and someone was wrapping cloth around her palm. There was a lot of sticky wet substance and it took a moment for her to realize that it was blood. More specifically, her blood. Natasha was saying something about how Asa shouldn't be allowed to handle anything dangerous because of her tendency to zone out during visions and Bucky muttered something about her being blind. It was hard to hear because she felt like she was underwater, all sounds muffled and distorted. 

“I'm able to take care of myself, thank you,” she muttered, but it came out slurred and garbled as if she was drunk or half asleep. Blood loss and exhaustion threatened to pull her under and the last thing she heard was Tony exclaiming he had a new arm for Bucky, stopping mid-sentence and letting out a stream of rather creative obscenities that made her giggle before she lost consciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this weird bit of brain soup! I apologize for the clusterfuck thar happened to the last chapter because I can't internet. This is the actual 4th chapter, last time it was the third. That's what happens if you have one saved as draft and don't pay attention. Song of the day is Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden. The song Asa sings for Bucky is Time In A Bottle by Jim Croce, another rather depressing one.


	5. Blood on my name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury makes an appearance and Bucky doesn't kill anyone. Thinking about it doesn't count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit on the shorter side but I simply had to end it where it does. Sometimes one has to end on a high note because soon you will hate me for all the hortible stuff that will happen.
> 
> Song is by The Brothers Bright or The Wright Brothers depending on where you look. Thank you again for reading this and kudosing and commenting and everything. I wrote this on my phone on a construction site today so I apologize if my phone tried to turn words that make sense into gibberish again.

_There's a reckoning a-coming_  
 _and it burns beyond the grave_  
 _its lead inside my belly_  
 _cause my soul has lost its way_  
 _Oh, Lazarus_  
 _How did your debts get paid_  
 _Oh, Lazarus_  
 _Were you so afraid_  
 _When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you_  
 _with the hounds of hell coming after you_  
 _I've got blood, I've got blood on my name_  
 _when the fires, when the fires_  
 _are consuming you_  
 _and your sacred stars won't be guiding you_  
 _I've got blood, I've got blood_  
 _blood on my name_   
  
It wasn't until afternoon that Bucky saw that wretched blind chick again and it made him furious. Partially because he knew what she could do still, but he was pissed on her behalf because everyone didn't mind her cooking when it was obviously dangerous. Something he credited to the old Bucky, not the new Bucky. Certainly not the Soldier. He wondered if he really had a multiple personality problem or if he was just plain crazy. That he didn't drool and rock back and forth and cackle like old Fanny Horowitz was pretty much his only ray of hope.

 

And then that he remembered Fanny sitting on the front steps of her house at all.

 

They were having a meeting of some sorts about him and Hydra, and when he stalked into the room ten minutes early a lot of the seats were already taken and he didn't need any superpowers to feel the tension in the room. Of course, he had known about the fight between Steve and Stark, but there seemed to be a lot more to it than that. People were glaring, Romanov looked like she had swallowed a bug and even that other guy was here and looked like he didn't want to be. Clint something? Bucky hadn't had any use for remembering names in decades and didn't expect it to improve within 24 hours of being thawed.

 

Steve looked at him expectantly so he walked, stalked even, halfway around the table and took the empty chair right next to him. It seemed silly to save a seat for him, but he was grateful - because this man was better than the rest. The chairs were not designed for comfort at all, everyone sat straight up with their backs ramrod straight like kids in school waiting for their teacher and Bucky was the only one who didn't seem to mind. His body remembered standing perfectly still for however long was necessary even though his mind didn't, and compared to what he had been through these cleverly designed torture devices were nothing. After two minutes of glaring at the surface of the table he shifted ever so slightly to attempt a restoration of the blood flow to his legs.

 

Two minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start the young witch walked in, with her arm casually threaded through that of the real witch. Asa. Vaguely Scandinavian, that name, and he would ask her if he were interested at all. There was nothing he could do to stop his brain from gathering information,  although he failed to see how knowing her family's origins would be of any use. They took up the seats right across from him and he sighed. No escaping that one,  although he couldn't feel her even attempting to manipulate him. Which was somewhat of a relief, really. Instead she began to hum a melody that seemed vaguely familiar and he leaned back, wondering why she was trying to hide a sly little grin.

 

Stark waltzed in followed by a tall guy in black with an eyepatch. Huh.  Bucky could have sworn that he killed that man. Not that he wasn't glad that he obviously hadn't succeeded, but that Soldier part of him was miffed, to put it lightly. Asa hummed louder and he snorted. That woman was obviously bonkers, why the hell would they recruit her for anything. She had cut herself with a kitchen knife. Admittedly while in some sort of trance, but still. All of the guys in his head failed to see her value.

 

Fury slapped a bunch of files on the table and even the slightest noise ceased immediately, everyone focusing their attention on the man that was technically not in charge of anything at that moment, but that hardly stopped him from continuing right where they left off.

 

“We've got a few puzzle pieces to put together and we will be using this as a team building effort since you all are obviously incapable of resolving anything without parental supervision. Now, before we start on our trust falls I would like to formally introduce our newest addition, even though I am the only person who hasn't met her yet. Welcome Miss Asa. Unfortunately we have yet to uncover any further information on you, like your last name. Previous residences.  A god damn birth certificate. As of right now you do not exist so we will not have to add you to the list of people we need go get off the most wanted list. That is the good news.”

 

Fury went up for air and Bucky glanced at Steve from the corner of his eyes, without realizing he actually did it. The man looked just as lost as he was, so he didn't need to hope to receive explanations to any questions he had after this meeting slash lecture was over.

 

“Sergeant Barnes, the next point involves  you so I advise you to pay attention. The bad news. They are pretty fucking bad. From what we gathered from what little scraps of Intel Hydra left behind it seems that they were the ones that experimented on this lady here after kidnapping her as a child. Why? How the hell would I know. It seems like they are trying to find you though, and they were close. Too close. What we assume is that part of the Winter Soldier program involved emotional manipulation. For the longest time we thought they used regular methods to break down their subject, if a messed up thing like that can ever be called regular. Looking a bit closer it seems that they were using empaths like you,” he pointed at Asa, even though she couldn't see him so Bucky wondered what the point of that was supposed to be, “to create human weapons like you.”

 

Bucky didn't need to look up, there weren't any other dehumanized super soldiers in the room at present.

 

“So it seems that they're either gearing up to reboot Barnes, or they're planning on trying to revive that particular project with new unfortunate souls. Goes without saying that we won't tolerate it either way.”

 

Something inside him released a whole gallon of battery acid into his stomach and Bucky felt his hand ball into a fist. If he still had his metal arm he would probably have wrecked the armrest of this chair already. Trying to use it for normal activities had always been difficult, it had never been calibrated for that sort of thing and Bucky had wrecked quite a few things before he had gotten the hang of holding a simple glass or a damn apple with it. A high pitched ringing filled his ears and then he heard that melody again, this time she was outright singing and everyone stared at him. Bucky lifted his eyes to glare at her, temporarily forgetting that it did fuck all to intimidate her because she didn't see a damn thing.

 

“Stop doing shit to my head,” he snarled, quite pleased with the effect it had on her. Asa recoiled and stopped immediately. The tiny hint of calm disappeared instantly and Bucky grumbled, realizing that absolutely everyone was looking at him. For someone that had been spending a lot of time trying not to be seen it was a very uncomfortable situation and he withdrew instantly.

 

“Interesting. How did you know this would work?”

 

Yeah, how did she. Bucky had felt smug when he had been able to block her out and the fact that she had found a way around it was unsettling, to say the least. So he looked at her, eyes covered by the hair hanging over his face, head still bowed and fully aware that it must look menacing. Again, a futile effort, but it made him feel a little better. Asa squirmed but answered the question Fury had asked nonetheless.

 

“When he slept. He woke me up so I tried to find a way to keep him from screaming. Someone was singing to him, so I did.”

 

Bucky barely kept himself from bolting out of the room, preferably with a detour across the table to pound her head into the shiny wood floor. But he didn't and he added that to the very short list of positive accomplishments that at present mostly included people he hadn't killed. What could he say, it was a work in progress. Even if he would dedicate the rest of his life to trying to make up for everything he did, all the pain he had caused, it would never be enough and a not so tiny voice in his head kept insisting that his existence was pretty much unjustified at that point. It wasn't easy to ignore that until the soft humming picked up again. She was smiling at him, but in a sad way. Stupid little...

 

“We need to learn more about what exactly you can do so I would like to get a team to run some tests and talk to you in depth. We think that you and Maximoff can help remove his conditioning, maybe even jumpstart some of his memories so he can help us figure out what the hell Hydra is up to. See. Team effort. We need to work together to get this sorted so I want no more epic head butting and destroying of anything. We need to suck up to Germany big time or they'll never get on board with reinstating anyone to at least tolerated status ever again. Send some flowers. They wouldn't appreciate our chocolate. Now I've heard that Barnes here had some input on the alleged Winter Soldier sightings, we will look into that as well. Something is fishy here and we need to get rid of that problem or we'll have to hide Barnes away like the embarrassing cousin until he's old and gray. Which might take a while. Ladies, gents, you have your work cut out for you. I'm expecting results yesterday. Agent Hill will keep in touch to keep tabs on your progress. Don't disappoint me, or you'll all be grounded for the next decade.”

 

With that Fury left, leaving the files on the table. It was quiet for a moment, before Bucky turned towards Steve, brows furrowed. “What the hell is a trust fall?”


	6. Down with the sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go south. Figuratively speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the massive gap between updates but life dealt me a cart of lemons. They have been turned into lemonade and spiked with vodka so I can go back to a somewhat cohesive schedule. Promise.
> 
> This chapter bears the title of one of the best songs ever and it so happens to fit quite nicely. As usual I strongly suggest you check it out and turn up the volume to scare your neighbors :3

_Drowning deep in my sea of loathing_  
Broken your servant I kneel  
(Will you give in to me?)  
It seems what's left of my human side  
Is slowly changing in me  
(Will you give in to me?) 

_Looking at my own reflection_  
When suddenly it changes  
Violently it changes (oh no)  
There is no turning back now  
You've woken up the demon in me 

It took a few moments for the laughter to die down while Natasha explained trust falls to two supremely confused nonagenarians. Even if it had been anything but intentional - although quite possibly exactly because of that - he had provided an icebreaker, something to dissipate some of the tension in the group so they could focus on the task at hand. There was so much tension, unresolved conflicts that festered right under the surface and that made it damn near impossible to stay in the room, yet they had to miraculously get over it and work together. Asa didn't need her abilities to predict the months and months of group therapy it would take to work through all of it.

Asa didn't really listen to anything, her head was swimming with what Fury had said. It had never occurred to her to really think about where she came from. Memories were not something she really felt like holding on to, mostly because she never really had anything happen to her that she wanted to remember. Hers was a rather passive existence and she had never seen the need to question it, to examine it further. Maybe because she was afraid of what she would uncover. There was just this vague feeling of emptiness whenever she recalled being shaped, enhanced as they had put it, and before that was a black hole.

The occasional dream about childhood and family was unreliable at best, because everything was different every time. A redheaded mother and eight siblings, a father with calloused hands plowing a small field with a big horse. A blond mother in a petticoat serving up a roast, her brother talking to their father who was still in his suit, smoking a cigarette. Two women with dark skin, sisters, taking care of their children while their husbands worked. They were building a very tall building in a big city and barely had enough money to feed everyone.

It was impossible, and her head ached, pounding in the same rhythm as the pen someone tapped on the table.

Table. Tapping. She froze.

A high whirring was the last thing she heard before someone collided with her, throwing her off the chair and rolling under the table with her. People were scrambling and then glass shattered and something exploded. There were heavy footsteps outside and she could smell smoke.

“How the hell did they breach my security systems? This is unacceptable. FRIDAY is down.”

Tony seemed agitated. There was a strange sound and Asa couldn't figure it out until she heard him sigh, the sound distorted through his suit. 

“You can roll off her now, Barnes. Amazing reaction time. Asa, you better stay under the table for now, you're not exactly trained for this and not seeing doesn't help. Can you do anything to them?”

She bit her lip and tried to wiggle free from the avalanche of muscle that was still pinning her down. Close physical contact made it hard for her to focus because there were at least a dozen emotions and fragmented memories invading her mind. Finally she cut through the haze and frowned, hoping that Bucky would see it.

“Not without affecting you all. You're not able to block me out like he can.”

The footsteps came closer and Nat called that they were coming through the windows as well. Everyone took up positions. Except Barnes, patron saint of assholes. She tried to ignore the way he felt repulsion and disgust but it was impossible. Maybe it was just whatever was rolling through his head, but most likely that reaction was caused by her. And that was just rude.

“Make me angry,” he finally growled out through clenched teeth and got up. A knife appeared in her hand, confusing her for a moment. How was she supposed to use it when she couldn't see if she stabbed a friend or a foe? This man didn't possess an ounce of logic. Or he hoped she would attempt harakiri.

“I think I already do,” she muttered.

The door crashed open and she felt a whole lot of determination coming from both sides. Finding Bucky in the ensuing chaos was easy, stoking the red hot embers of his fury even more so. There were screams and a lot of grunting, bodies crashing into furniture and walls, and all she could do was hope that her people would come out alright. Asa rode wave after wave of anger, each worse than the one before, until it built into a tsunami so intense it made her ears ring and the room around her spin. There were terrible sounds of bones breaking, people screaming, but the voices didn't sound familiar. It took a moment before it was eerily quiet. All there was was breathing and fury. So much fury. Carefully she began to pull back, replacing it with as much calm as she could muster.

“Very impressive. Disturbing, but impressive. You hulked out on us, Barnes. One armed. I feel like I should sit down.”

That was Tony. She heard Steve ask if everyone was okay. Clint and Natasha confirmed from further away, voices muffled. Wanda piped up, voice shaky. Asa was about to open her mouth when she was pulled out from under the table by her hair and a terrible pain exploded in her head. Fear gripped her tightly the moment she felt a knife on her throat and then she realized that she had one herself. The man was speaking to her in a language she couldn’t understand and it helped her realize that it wasn't anyone she knew. So she flipped the knife up in the air and raised her arm, gripped the handle mid air and stabbed backwards into her attacker's eye.

The man fell to the floor and took her with him, her squeal drawing attention from the others. Steve came rushing over and pulled her free. A speaker somewhere crackled.

Russian words were broadcast and people flew into a frenzy, taking out hidden speakers, she heard Steve call Bucky a few times. No answer. The sound of them was familiar, almost comforting. If they had control over the system, why hadn't they done this in the first place? It seemed such a cruel thing, to send in so many men to die if it could have been avoided. It was an unnecessarily cruel kind of game, but she suspected that that sort of thing came with the bad guys trope. Then the words stopped, and, probably for the benefit of everyone around, the male voice continued in English.

“Bring her home, soldier.”

Asa didn't understand, but when an arm lifted her with apparent ease and she automatically wrapped hers around his neck she felt a black, cold emptiness wash over her that seemed painfully familiar even if she couldn't remember anything related to it. There were voices around them, the fight noises picking up again as more men came swarming in through the windows, but Bucky kept walking through it all like a windup toy. Someone touched her neck and she felt a sting before the sounds became distorted, as if she was dragged underwater, and she lost consciousness.


End file.
